


Marks

by tyndaridai



Category: Korean Drama, 상속자들 | The Heirs
Genre: F/M, Ficathon, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-31
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 12:20:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3067628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tyndaridai/pseuds/tyndaridai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Do likes to use his mouth.</p><p>(Day 7 of the 12 Days of Youngra)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marks

**Author's Note:**

> Please check [this masterpost](http://tyndaridaes.tumblr.com/post/105382274895/masterpost) for more information about the small ficathon.
> 
> And please excuse any awkwardness or ooc-ness--writing smut is not my forte

 

Young Do likes to use his mouth.

He likes the marks his mouth leaves on her body, small intimate trophies of his ability to make her cum, writhing so hard that she tears the sheets.

She'd always thought he'd get more enjoyment out of using his hands, had spent hours fantasizing about those long fingers curling up and into her, palm against her clit as he watched her lose her ability to formulate words.

He  _does_  enjoy that (particularly in entirely inappropriate situations, taking advantage of her predilection for skirts), but he doesn't like that his hands can leave marks on her. It's often inevitable; Rachel likes rough, hard, sex, the kind that leaves bruises later, aches that follow her the next day and serve as a reminder of what they were capable of doing for each other.

But when she gets up to shower in the morning, silk sheets sliding off her body, she often catches his frown. Once, he'd dragged her back to bed and spent half an hour placing tender kisses to the blue and purple marks, like small butterfly apologies against her skin. He'd dismissed her aggravated (half-hearted) protests, smirking that he'd just "missed a spot" the night before. But she knew--for such formidable individuals they were abysmal at bluffing their real emotions. She never understood his reaction, though. She always gave just as much as she received, and she knows for a fact that Young Do likes nothing better than when she sits astride him and punishes with her hips.

But every bruise by his hand bothers him, so she's come to appreciate his very, very, talented mouth.  
  
"Young Do-ah," she refuses to let her eyes close, won't let them close when they're barely hidden behind the red drapes covering the small alcove. Young Do is on his knees, no doubt  _ruining_ the black Tom Ford tuxedo pants she'd only just gotten him that morning, but it's clear from the way he shifts closer to her that he couldn't give less of a damn.  
  
"Rachel," he hums ( _taunts_ ), so close that she feels the vibrations against her inner thigh. She swallows and digs her nails into the back of his neck, lashes stubbornly fluttering.   
  
His bow-tie is gone too. For a moment, Rachel wonders if he'd carelessly flung it into the hallway in their haste, but then Young Do tilts her hips up and Rachel realizes she has it: it's balled tightly in her fist.  
  
"Do you need an invitation?" she snaps weakly, breathing heavy and wild with the thought that someone could stumble upon them. (There's a part of her though, she thinks, hand curling possessively over Young Do's broad shoulder, that she would relish the envy behind their stunned expressions).  
  
Right now though, left leg slung over Young Do's broad shoulder, ass perched on the window sill, and his mouth inches from her clit, Rachel is frustrated.  
  
She shifts, glittering (torn) silver dress pooling over her parted legs, but doesn't thrust forward lest her boyfriend believe that he is the one in control.   
  
"You're so wet," he groans out against her hipbone, teeth scraping against the skin there and she tightens her hold on his slick hair. She likes the look of him there, eyes dark and devouring, powerful against the paleness of her skin. She licks her lips and shifts.  
  
"Yes," she says and refrains from a litany of harsh remarks that would only fuel his desire to tease instead of deliver. She fixates on that red mouth hovering over her. "And I'd prefer not to be during the performance. If you wouldn't mind."  
  
He presses a kiss to the lip of her sheer panties and wraps his large hand more firmly around the breadth of her thigh. Her leg shakes.   
  
"Young D--" her hushed plea breaks off completely when he finally pushes her underwear aside and presses his mouth to her. He's smiling, she can feel it as he latches onto her and licks, maddeningly slow.   
  
Rachel sighs, head dropping back against the window pane. He's languid, tongue lazily circling against her as if 40 of their friends and associates weren't just 100 feet away. He tightens his grip on her thigh so that he can tilt her hips, the new position giving Young Do better access to her, a fact he reveals by nipping playfully at her outer lips before taking her clit into his mouth and sucking  _hard_.  
  
Rachel clenches against him, moan covered by the bow-tie clenched tightly in her fist. She strains up against him, wet under the warmth of his mouth and the slide of his tongue, but Young Do places a hand to her belly to prevent her from moving any further. She huffs and then nearly groans when he laughs right against her, right  _into_ her.  
  
"There," she breathes, pushing up against him as his tongue dips down into her opening, strong fingers following after. He fucks his tongue into her, stretching and curling against the throbbing muscles there, pressing in deep and unforgiving. Rachel muffles a cry into her hand, eyes long since slammed shut. He doesn't let up even as Rachel moves against him, the pressure bordering on pain it's so intense, and Rachel marvels, distantly, over the fact that Young Do will once again make her fall apart with just his tongue and mouth.   
  
"Youn-" she breaks off and gasps when Young Do presses a thumb to her clit as he licks into her again, pressure insistent and rough. With a twist of his wrist he sends Rachel over the edge, biting the back of her own hand to keep the cries from escaping. Even as she comes down from her high, Young Do stays, sucking more gently to help her ride out her orgasm. She slumps against the window pane almost immediately after, muscles still tensed and clenching against him as he slowly pulls away from her, coaxing her breath back into her lungs by pressing soothing fingers against her knees.  
  
Distantly, Rachel hears wine glasses clink together.  
  
"You're beautiful," he says quietly, not smug like she expected of him so soon after such a performance. She hums in answer as he places feather-light kisses along her inner thigh, eyes slowly fluttering open. Rachel liked to bask in her post sex haze, something that endlessly fascinated Young Do.  
  
True to form, he's watching her, eyes bright but heady as he slowly rocks back onto his heels. Her legs drop listlessly to the ground, and she watches carefully as he brushes the dirt from his pants when he stands. He's a disordered mess, shirt somehow tucked and hair wild against his sweaty forehead.    
  
"Debauched," she corrects him, and it's then, as Young Do takes in her flustered state that he smirks with pride. She rolls her eyes when he leans forward and brushes the pad of his thumb along the bottom of her lip.   
  
"My favourite," he mumbles, grin like a shark as he braces his other arm against the window frame and boxes her in. Her heart is still slowing to an acceptable beat, but she lets him crowd her, almost strangely affectionate after sex. (Particularly fantastic sex).   
  
"After the show," she says, ignoring his amused snort when she lets the crumpled up bow-tie fall from her grasp and into his.  "We'll take care of this," she presses that same palm to Young Do's fairly obvious bulge, and watches the muscles of his throat work as he swallows hard. (She hides the flush that instinctively arises out of her gesture).  
  
He leans into her a bit, enough that her grip on him becomes a whole new pressure altogether, but he stops there. Pressing a kiss to the side of her head, Rachel feels his deep sigh ruffle the stray hairs of what was once her complicated updo, but was now a disheveled mess of braids and pins. "You need help with your dress, don't you?"   
  
She bites into her cheek and lightly kicks at his shin with her Jimmy Choos. "Since the slit of my dress is now to my hip," she answers back, too content to muster up the irritation her ruined dress deserved. "Yes."  
  
He shifts back and over, bearing most of his weight with his shoulder as he settles into a lean. His grin is insufferable again and Rachel narrows her eyes.  
  
"I guess we should find your panties then." 


End file.
